


Heads and Tales

by hermitknut



Series: Coin Flip [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Finds Out, Druids, Eventual Fluff, M/M, Magic Revealed, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 22:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7124422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermitknut/pseuds/hermitknut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin and Arthur; two names that are heard together throughout history. But both are falling into easily laid traps as well as love, and it seems that they might not ever reach their destiny. Set non-specifically around s3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mylan (a prologue)

Mylan frowned in concentration as he sat cross-legged in his tent, trying to relax. The sounds of the children playing and the other druids working faded and blurred into a background hum as he sank into meditation, the fumes from the potion on the ground before him enveloping him gently.

After a few minutes the surface of the potion shimmered from black into the outline of a shadowed face. Mylan tried to draw his focus closer, to get more detail from the picture, but there was a call outside and his attention shattered. Trying not to feel annoyed, he got carefully to his feet and made his way out of his tent.

Outside, the little camp had gone very quiet. Standing at the edge of the forest was a young man, a bundle of clothes on his back. His posture was hesitant, nervous, and Mylan could see why: the other druids had stopped everything that they had been doing to stare at him warily. Mylan took a step forward, and saw the boy’s head turn towards him. He raised his hands peaceably.

“Welcome,” Mylan said calmly. “Are you lost? We are more than happy to help you on your way.”

There was a pause. Mylan knew that there were those who disapproved of welcoming every stranger with open arms, but he believed it was the only way to convince the rest of the world that their kind were not the evil murderers they were seen as.

“I’m not lost,” the boy said quietly. “I was looking for you…” he hesitated before continuing unsurely. “I have nowhere to live, and I was wondering if…” he trailed off again, looking a little scared. Mylan glanced around at the others, wondering what to say. They were normally happy to take in strays, but it was getting more and more dangerous to trust strangers since Uther Pendragon’s latest wave of witch-hunting.

“Why should we trust you?” a voice from the back spoke up. The boy turned to look, but couldn’t pick out who had spoken. He shrugged nervously.

“It’s your decision,” he said softly. “If you won’t take me in, I’ll just travel onwards.”

He was more confident than he appeared, Mylan thought, but it was more as though he had rehearsed these words than as though he actually knew any more than he said.

“Why take shelter with the most hunted people in the land?” Mylan asked gently, curiously. “What have you left behind, that this is a better and safer place?”

At this the boy gave a half-smile.

“I flee Camelot, and King Uther,” he said quietly, “for he will not have sorcerers in his kingdom.”

Mylan raised his eyebrows and heard a flurry of whispers among the rest of the druids. This changed things.

“You’re a sorcerer?” he asked curiously, surprised. The boy seemed decidedly ordinary – and although Mylan knew that appearances could be deceiving, he still found it hard to believe that the boy had any kind of magic.

The boy nodded. Mylan made his decision.

“Then you are welcome here,” he said. “Come through, we’ll find you somewhere to stay.”

Jethar volunteered to share his tent with the newcomer, and Mylan gave him a grateful if unsurprised nod. The two boys were around the same age, and would hopefully get along well. As everyone made their way back to their tents and their tasks, Mylan realised something with a start. He turned and called after the boy.

“What is your name, friend?” he asked. The others were quiet, listening. There was a pause and then the boy gave another nervous half-smile.

“My name is Merlin.”


	2. Greetings

_“Merlin, you know you can trust me, right? With whatever it is…” Arthur’s self-confident tone makes Merlin unsure whether he wants to ignore him, strangle him or kiss him. He settles for replying._

_“Of course I trust you,” he says, fidgeting a little in Arthur’s arms, “but that’s not the point.”_

_Arthur presses his face into the back of Merlin’s head, his eyes closed for a moment in thought before he pulls back again slightly._

_“Isn’t it?” he asks. He sounds uncaring enough but there’s a note of tension in his voice that tells Merlin that how he handles this is important. Merlin’s about to speak when out of nowhere the world around them changes. He’s on the battle ground; he can see the defeated enemy around him and knows that he and Arthur are only alive because of his magic. He turns to Arthur, who is clutching an injured arm, and reaches out to help him –_

_“Get away from me, sorcerer!”_

_The words are made all the worse by the betrayal in Arthur’s eyes. Merlin falls back a step, not knowing what to do when there’s a strange tapping sound –_

Merlin opened his eyes. Someone was tapping on the wooden frame of the tent.

He pulled himself blearily upright and tugged on his shoes and jacket before going outside. Squinting in the sunlight, he was startled to realise that it was gone midday. Jethar was leaning on the tent-post, his arms folded.

“Come on,” he said. “You can help with a few things, there’s work to be done.” Merlin nodded, and followed him through the little village.

~

They sat around the fire every night, to eat and share thoughts. It was normally a lively affair, full of chatting and discussion – but tonight was slightly different.

Merlin sat next to Jethar with little Isa on his other side. Isa was eleven and very small for her age; she had lost her parents, druids, to King Uther’s regime when she was six. Mylan could see many of the others shooting surprised and sometimes disapproving glances in their direction; clearly they were unsettled by her choice of seating. Mylan decided to try and welcome the newcomer a little more, and spoke across the fire.

“Merlin,” he said, and all but heard everyone’s attention sharpen. “It’s something of a tradition of ours here to give a newcomer a druidic name if they don’t have one. Merlin is a name in common tongue, am I right?”

Merlin nodded. He seemed understandably uncomfortable with all the attention, but the light of the fire gave his young face a stranger, almost unearthly aspect. _This boy is something different_. Mylan was surprised by this feeling, and made a note to give it more thought later.

“I take it you grew up in the ‘ordinary’ world?” he asked, and some people in the circle chuckled at his choice of words.

Merlin nodded again.

“I grew up in Ealdor with my mother,” he said. “I went to Camelot nearly two years ago, looking for work.”

This answer was fairly well-received. One of the older women, Deira, spoke.

“What did you do?” she asked pleasantly. Mylan was grateful that she was trying to reach out; Deira had lost her son several years ago, a boy about Merlin’s age. She smiled at him, and Merlin seemed to relax a little.

“I was a servant,” he replied. “For – for one of the noble families in the city.”

“How did you learn to be a sorcerer?”

Mylan looked around. One of the children had asked.

Merlin seemed to think about this for a long time before answering.

“I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “I had a talent for it when I was younger – a traveller passing through our village taught me a little. And I managed to get hold of a book, which helped.”

“A book?” Mylan asked curiously. “A book of spells?”

Merlin nodded.

“It’s in the tent – should I get it?” he asked. Mylan thought, then shook his head.

“No, don’t worry about it now; but perhaps tomorrow if you wouldn’t mind, I’d very much like to see it.”

“Okay,” Merlin said.

There was another silence, but it was much more comfortable than before. The eyes on Merlin were now much more curious than accusing. A quieter voice spoke up.

“How did you get caught?”

~

The dungeon was dark. Water dripped somewhere. Arthur winced as he opened his eyes, but then felt a hand on his shoulder; a familiar, long-fingered hand.

“Merlin?” Arthur muttered groggily. Merlin supported the prince as he pulled himself upright. Looking around in the dim light, he saw the four knights in a similar state. Merlin looked dazed and shaken, but better off.

“What happened?” Arthur asked him. “Where are we?”

Merlin began to explain as the two of them helped another knight up.

“I got up because the fire was running low, and I went to get some wood. When I got back, there was some kind of smoke everywhere and no one was on watch.” Merlin sat down against the wall. Arthur waited.

“Well?” he finally said, impatiently. Merlin shrugged.

“I don’t know. Someone hit me on the back of the head and I woke up here.”

“Wherever ‘here’ is,” Arthur murmured grimly.

~

“How did you get caught?”

Merlin seemed unsurprised by the question. He shrugged.

“How does anyone?” he said, overly casually. “I got too clever for my own good, and I messed up. I was seen doing magic.” He shrugged again. Mylan guessed this was a painful subject; the younger man was looking straight at the fire, and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. The children were less observant.

“But how did you get away?” another of them asked. Mylan wasn’t surprised by their curiosity, but sent a warning glance in their direction.

“I had a friend who managed to… arrange my escape,” Merlin answered quietly. “I was very lucky. I… don’t know if my friend was, though. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

There was silence but for the crackling of the flames.

After a moment, Mylan spoke again.

“We’ve gone off topic – which was, I believe, a name for our newcomer,” he said to everyone before turning back to speak to Merlin directly.

“You said you’ve encountered our kind before,” he said. “Did they give you any name or title?”

Merlin thought for a moment.

“There was – something…” he said hesitantly. Mylan nodded.

“I don’t know what it means,” he said, still sounding uncertain, “but he called me ‘Emrys’.”

Mylan didn’t let his thoughts show on his face, but the sudden attentive silence in the circle said more. He spoke, calmly.

“Emrys. One, unique. Remarkable.” He watched the young man’s face closely, and there it was – a brief flicker of something undecipherable, gone as quickly as it arrived. He pretended not to have noticed.

“Well, I think that works – unless anyone has any objections?”

No one said anything. Mylan smiled gently.

“Then I welcome Emrys to our home, that it may become his and us his family,” he said in the traditional form. He inclined his head politely towards the boy, and normal conversation slowly resumed. But Mylan was silent as he watched Emrys, sitting quietly with his eyes on the fire. The name seemed fitting, he mused, but that nagging feeling had come back. _This boy is something different.  
_


	3. Prophecy

_A time of fear and hatred and burning will last a reign_

_But out of the ashes a new king will rise_

_He will unite the kingdoms of Albion_

_And a golden age will dawn._

_And yet his destiny will not rest in his hands alone_

_For Emrys Ambrosius, born of magick_

_Shall take his side and friendship_

_For fear of all the world_

_If the king does not rise_

_Will fall into darkness_

_death, despair_

_and black magick._

 

Mylan’s brow furrowed as he read the old, runic language, his fingers skimming under each line without touching the ancient parchment. _Emrys Ambrosius_ … the new boy was called Emrys. Well, hardly new now – he’d been living at the druid’s camp for three months. But where he had gotten the name from? In the runes it could be translated as one, unique – it could even just have been a comment from a stranger, a reflective of the boy’s odd nature. Nothing to do with the old prophecies. Just… a coincidence.

_There are no coincidences. Nature will have her way, magic even more so. Destiny cannot be avoided._

The voice of Mylan’s old tutor echoed in his mind. He frowned, thoughtful. Then someone called his name from outside and he carefully wrapped the old parchment back in its leather binding before leaving his tent.

~ 

The dark dungeon dripped, impossibly cold – no, Merlin realised, what was impossible was imagining that outside of this dungeon was the warm summer’s night and the soft half moon. His flicked around the dungeon again, impatient, waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly there was a clag of metal on stones, and the sound of heavy feet on the steps. Arthur, Merlin and the four knights stood, Arthur foremost and Merlin hovering just behind his right shoulder, his every nerve on edge.

Three heavy-set men stood outside the iron bars. The man in the centre spoke first, with a deep and calm voice.

“My men found you on our land. Name yourselves, and tell me now if you be friend or foe.”

Arthur stepped forward and Merlin recognised the familiar, proud tilt to his head.

“I am Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot,” he said. “My men and I were out hunting when we lost our way in the darkness. We had no intention of trespassing, I assure you – and for that you have my apologies.” His voice was controlled, diplomatic, sincere; Merlin knew that no one else would notice the slight impatience in his stance.

“So a friend,” said the man, his voice gruff but not angry. “Then I hope you forgive this,” he gestured to the dungeon, “but my men are few in number, and as such we are forced to resort to such regrettably backhanded techniques to keep our land secure.” He nodded at the man to his left, who produces a heavy set of keys and unlocked the cell door. It swung open with a creak.

“Please, dine with us. It is nearly noon, and after the meal my men will show you back to your home.”

Arthur nodded politely and followed the as-yet unnamed man out of the dungeon, his four knights and Merlin following. An air of ease and goodwill fell over them as they entered the main part of the small castle, but something in Merlin’s heart still felt twisted, uncertain.

 _It can’t be this simple_.

~

_“Merlin, run, just get out!”_

_“Arthur, I –”_

_“Don’t worry about me, you idiot, just do as I say for once and RUN!”_

_“But Arthur –”_

_“Emrys! Emrys, wake up! Merlin! Wake up, you’re –”_

“- having a nightmare again!” Merlin’s eyes jerked open to see Jethar leaning over him, shaking his arm. He forced himself to relax, to calm, and gave Jethar an embarrassed half-smile.

“Sorry,” he said. Jethar shook his head.

“It’s alright – hardly your fault. I just wish you’d let me ask Deira to brew you something for them, it can’t be fun always having nightmares.”

Merlin just shrugged.

“They’ll go in their own time,” he said as he reached for his shoes. Jethar paused for a moment, clearly not satisfied, but he left the tent as Merlin began to dress. _Sorry, Jethar,_ Merlin thought. He hated having to lie here, but how could he explain to Jethar that he didn’t want the nightmares to stop? That although every night he relived every horror he had seen, he would lose himself without them? That though each nightmare was terrifying, they were his only way to see Arthur…

He glanced up at the sky. _Not for long now, though._ It would be a full moon tonight.

~

The meal was simple, but good, and the company polite, but Merlin barely noticed. Arthur and the knights were in good spirits though, and when Arthur saw how serious Merlin’s expression was he had given him a look as if to ask him why he was being such a spoilsport.

“You can’t be still sulking that you got knocked out, Merlin?” he asked as he watched Merlin saddle his horse. Merlin shook his head. Arthur raised his eyebrows.

“Come on, you can’t sulk all afternoon.”

Merlin still didn’t answer. Arthur glanced around, and seeing that the stables were otherwise empty took a step closer and placed a gentle hand on Merlin’s arm.

“Talk to me,” he said quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Merlin looked up at him.  
“I don’t know,” he said after a moment, holding back his urge to grab Arthur and just run, to get as far away from this place as possible. “It just feels… wrong, here.”  
Arthur raised his eyebrows again, sceptical.

“Wrong.”

Merlin shrugged, and continued to busy himself with the straps and the saddle. Arthur watched him quietly for a moment, but Merlin could tell he thought his manservant was being ridiculous, and he didn’t blame him. He had no idea where this feeling had come from, but it was strong and it had to mean something. Eventually, Arthur just clapped him on the shoulder.

“We’ll be out of here soon enough,” he said, and left to speak to the four knights who were waiting outside.

“And try and hurry up, Merlin!” he called over his shoulder as he left.

~

“What’s going on?” Mylan asked. Deira and some of the others were deep in discussion, almost argument as he approached them. Deira turned to him.

“Mylan, you trust Emrys, yes?” she asked. Mylan nodded. She turned back to the others.

“This place is not a prison, everyone here is free to wander where they will,” she said. “What’s the harm in it?”

“A harmless walk is one thing,” Farson said, frowning, “but regular trips in the same direction that one tells no one about are something quite different.”

Mylan glanced at the expressions of the others. It seemed most were on Farson’s side, not Deira’s.

“Emrys left the camp in secret for the second time yesterday,” Farson continued. Deira interrupted him.

“In secret? He’s old enough, must he explain himself to everyone? That boy has been through much fear,” she turned to Mylan, “you can see the sadness in his eyes, the loss in his face. And we are supposed to turn on him because he enjoys his own company occasionally?”

Mylan raised his hand as the others started to speak, and they fell quiet.

“Has anyone asked Emrys where he goes?” he asked.

“He just says ‘walking’,” Jethar answered from behind Mylan, who turned. Jethar and Isa had approached the group as they had been talking. Jethar spoke again.

“He doesn’t cover his tracks very well,” he said hesitantly. “If you don’t think that you can trust him, then why not let me and Isa follow him, see where he goes?”

There was silence at this for a few moments.

“We should just be able to trust him,” Deira said softly.

“We do,” Mylan said to her, “but if others have doubts, then I cannot fault them. These are dangerous times, and I understand their fears. I also believe – ” he raised his hand gently again, and Deira did not interrupt, “- that Emrys would understand this. Jethar and Isa can follow him next time he leaves.”

There was a general nod of consensus. Jethar spoke up again, quietly.

“Emrys watches the sky, the progress of the moon. He leaves the day before the full moon, all but one of the months he has been here,” he said.

“Then we must wait in patience, and in acceptance,” Mylan said softly.


	4. Lovers

Isa and Jethar followed quietly when Emrys left around noon. The walk was long and they often had to stop to untangle the warding spells Emrys was leaving behind him. Finally, about an hour before dusk, Emrys entered a clearing and stopped, sitting down in the long grass apparently to wait. Isa and Jethar settled themselves a distance away, well-hidden.

Within a few minutes, there was a new arrival. A young man, about the same age as Emrys but more strongly built, appeared almost silently on the opposite edge of the clearing. Emrys stood.

Isa and Jethar stiffened, reacting to the tension in the air, expecting a fight, but they were wrong. After a moment’s appraising pause, the two young men moved together and kissed, passionate, strong, hands in each other’s hair, hands running down spines, each desperate for the other. Jethar took Isa’s hand, thinking to pull her away and give Emrys and his friend some privacy, when the two young men slowed and stopped, breathing heavily. Emrys leaned into the stranger’s embrace though they were hardly different in height, his waist willingly encircled by the stranger’s arms, the stranger’s blond hair mingling dramatically with Emrys’ black. The stranger spoke first.

“I missed you.” His voice was softer and more tender than Jethar had expected. Emrys replied only with a quiet murmur that Jethar couldn’t quite discern. The stranger gave a low laugh.

“Liar.”

Emrys smiled slowly, his expression delighted but unsurprised.

“Alright, I missed you too,” he replied, his teasing tone undermined by his serious eyes. “Happy?”

“Hardly,” the stranger replied. “Can’t be with you so far away. It’s getting more and more difficult to get away to see you.”

Emrys watched him closely, concerned.

“How are things at home?” he asked. “We don’t get much news out here, it’s too risky.”

The stranger shrugged and disentangled himself from Emrys, sitting on the ground. Emrys joined him.

“Camelot is much the same,” he said. “There’s a curfew now, and security is tighter than usual, but that’s hardly news.”

Isa and Jethar looked at each other, startled. The stranger was from Camelot! Perhaps not surprising, given that Emrys had come from there; but still, a citizen of Camelot this close to the druid’s camp could mean nothing good.

“I’m surprised you could get here,” Emrys said quietly. He looked up at the sky. “You’ll barely make it back before nightfall, even if you leave now.”

“I know.” There was a pause. “But I had to see you, even for a few minutes.”

After a moment, Emrys leant over and they kissed again, gently. When they reluctantly parted, Emrys stood, and offered the stranger a hand to pull him to his feet.

“You should go,” Emrys said quietly. “You’ll be missed.”

The stranger nodded and kissed him again before walking away to the edge of the clearing and disappearing. Emrys stood, motionless, as he left. After a minute or so, Jethar took Isa’s hand again and drew her away.

“We need to get back before he does,” he muttered. She nodded and they made their way back to camp.

~ 

“Keep going! Don’t stop running!”

Merlin kept his eyes forward as he ran, knowing that if he didn’t he was bound to trip over something, but in between dodging trees he called forward to Arthur.

“How – can – you –” he panted, “run – and – shout – at – the – same – time?”

Arthur let out a loud laugh completely unmerited, Merlin thought, by the seriousness of the situation.

“Come on, Merlin, keep up!”

He sped up himself, and was quickly out of sight. Merlin swore under his breath. There was a growl behind him and he made the mistake of looking over his shoulder. His foot caught a fallen branch, and he went down without warning.

He was back on his feet almost immediately, but already the growling was getting louder. There was a sudden rustling ahead, and Arthur reappeared.

“Merlin, you idiot, come on – I’m not leaving you behind,” he said.

“Didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t. I just don’t want to deal with the hassle of getting a new manservant – now get a move on!”

They set off running again at a reasonable speed, but the noise behind them was much louder than before.

“It’s going to catch up,” Merlin said. Arthur’s mouth was set in a grim line, all traces of his previous good humour gone from his face. The growling got even louder. Merlin saw a flash of red ahead as they caught up with the knights, and made his decision. He gave Arthur a hard shove, knocking him to the ground – because whatever the prince liked to think, Merlin had some strength at his command – and then darted back in another direction. He heard Arthur shouting behind him but he tuned him out, running indirectly to the source of the growling. He had to lead the creature away from Arthur.

He came upon it more suddenly than he had expected, but luckily from the side. He grabbed a couple of stones from the ground and threw them, hard. The beast roared at turned towards him. Merlin let it get a good look at him before throwing a final stone and running away, the creature fast behind him.

 _I knew there was something wrong with that castle_ , Merlin thought somewhat self-righteously as he ran. He had been right. Not that his prat of a lover had believed him until they had had this creature set on them upon their leaving. Merlin tried to shove thoughts of Arthur out of his mind – really, he was a horrendous distraction – as he ran this way and that, leaping over fallen trees and leading the creature ever-further away from Arthur and his knights.

~

When Emrys returned, Isa and Jethar had already spoken with the elders, Jethar doing most of the talking.

“He’s just meeting a friend,” he had said. “I don’t think it’s anything to be worried about.”

“What kind of friend would travel so far just to meet?” Farson asked suspiciously. Jethar glanced at Isa, who gave a little giggle, blushing. Mylan raised his eyebrows.

“Are we to understand that they are perhaps more than merely friends?” he asked. Jethar nodded, and Mylan smiled.

“There is no harm in the young man going to meet his love,” he said kindly. Farson and the others nodded, some a little reluctantly, but most with humour in their eyes.

When they all sat around the fire that evening there were more than a few intrigued and good-humoured glances thrown in Emrys’ direction, but fortunately he didn’t seem to notice. Jethar watched him as closely as he dared, and has he closed his eyes to sleep than night he found himself wondering what it would be like to share something like that with another man. To hold a body like yours instead of full curves; to not need to bend down a little to kiss; to run hands through the untidy black hair… he stopped those thoughts right there. Emrys was not his, he couldn’t be thinking like that.

But Jethar couldn’t help the tiny part of him that hoped that the blond man would not meet with Emrys again.

~ 

Merlin had finally lured the creature to a clearing. He was bruised and battered and dripping wet – he’d fallen into a little stream on the way – and most definitely out of breath, but now there was space, and more importantly he could work magic unseen.

He summoned crackling magic to his hands, and threw it with all the force he could muster. But some of those bruises were beginning to make themselves felt, and as he moved suddenly to dodge the creature’s claw he felt the dizzying sensation of a rib moving unnaturally under his skin. He swallowed back nausea, and summoned his magic again. But this time he wasn’t fast enough. The creature caught him with a bat of its claw, sending him flying backwards. He had just enough sense left to slow himself down in the air, so he didn’t land as hard as he could’ve, but his head hit the tree trunk with a horrible thump. Pain seared along the back of his skull and neck and he winced. His vision was a little blurry as he pulled himself to his feet, but he forced himself to ignore it as well as the sticky dampness he could feel on his neck.

He raised his hand, spells coming quickly to mind despite his dizziness, and cast the powerful magic he knew would kill the beast, pulling the power from within him as he always did, expelling it out of one outstretched hand –

“Merlin!”

 _Arthur._ But it was too late, the spell was gone. It hit the creature and consumed it, crumbling it to ashes. Merlin turned to where the cry of his name had come from and saw Arthur staring at him, his face ashen. Merlin reached out an arm, unthinking, just wanting to communicate, to touch –

Arthur drew his sword violently.

“Get away from me, sorcerer!”

His voice is shaking. The words are made all the worse by the betrayal in Arthur’s eyes. Merlin falls back a step, his arm dropping to his side, desperately struggling for the right thing to say. But the choice is taken away from him as he stumbles and the dizziness overwhelms him. The last thing Merlin sees before he passes out is Arthur, leaning over him, calling out his name.


	5. Gaius (an interlude)

Gaius had held the position of Court Physician for a long time, and as such he’d seen many unusual sights from the pleasant to the revolting. But there was not one as peaceful, nor as oddly right, as the morning that he had first been certain that there was more than just friendship between the crown prince of Camelot and his haphazard manservant.

Merlin, despite having worked for Arthur for over a year, still often needed a knock on his door in the morning to rouse him in time to avoid the Prince’s anger. So when Merlin had still not left his room one morning, Gaius thought nothing of knocking gently before opening the door and leaning into the room to check that Merlin was awake.

He was not, but given the circumstances Gaius decided that Arthur probably wouldn’t object to Merlin sleeping in.

He returned to his own quarters and continued quietly preparing for the day. A small smile graced his face as he thought about what he had just seen.

Merlin and Arthur, limbs entwined under the sheets, blond and black hair blending across the pillow, their bodies impossibly close on the single bed. Arthur’s right arm across Merlin protectively, Merlin’s left foot sticking out of the opposite side of the bed with typical awkwardness. _Two sides of the same coin, indeed._

When Gaius heard movement in Merlin’s room, he picked up his usual bag and decided to go on his rounds a little earlier than usual, so as to better give the two some privacy.

 ~

When he had finished working for the day and he and Merlin were sitting down to their evening meal, he decided to broach the subject. There was no point, after all, in making the two of them go out of their way to hide it from him when he had no objections to make.

“So, how was Arthur today?” Gaius asked nonchalantly. Merlin shrugged.

“Just Arthur. He doesn’t really change much,” he answered, but Gaius spotted the hints of a blush on his cheeks. He eyed his young charge carefully, thoughtfully. Just as Merlin raised the spoon full of soup to his lips, Gaius made his second remark.

“Well, now that the two of you have synchronised your sleep –” Merlin spluttered on his soup “- I’m sure you’ll find it easier not to be late in the mornings.” Gaius resisted the temptation to look up, and kept his gaze calmly on his soup as he passed the frantically coughing Merlin the water jug.

After a few gulps, Merlin’s coughing subsided.

“Gaius…” Merlin said, his voice still slightly hoarse. Gaius looked up at him.

“Merlin?” he asked in return, amused but not allowing it to show on his face. Merlin looked at a loss for words, his mouth opening and shutting a few times before he swallowed and finally found words.

“You – you saw… you won’t – um – do you think – I mean, you won’t –”

Gaius decided to take pity on him.

“I won’t tell anyone, Merlin, what do you take me for?” he reproved gently, smiling. “It’s hardly my business, let alone anybody else’s.”

Merlin looked relieved.

~ 

Gaius had held the position of Court Physician for a long time; but in all his years he had not seen this. Now that he knew what to look for, it was obvious: the unusual softness in Prince Arthur’s eyes as he scolded Merlin for being late yet again; the way Merlin would sneak back past Gaius to his room very late at night, his hair in disarray; the way their eyes met with a newly shared knowledge across the heads of guests during feasts. Gaius was proud of his charge for his courage and glad of his happiness; but he could not help but wonder how this could possibly end. Despite the occasional openly admiring glance by one of the other and the way he heard them speak together when they thought themselves unheard in Merlin’s chambers, Gaius knew that one secret still lay between them.

Merlin’s magic.

He hadn’t asked Merlin if he’d told the Crown Prince, but he hadn’t needed to. The weight of the secret showed in Merlin’s eyes more often than before, in the way he moved, the way his expression lapsed into sadness every time Arthur left his side for whatever reason.

Gaius could only hope, for Merlin’s sake, that by some miracle the promised golden age came upon them earlier than planned.  
  



	6. Enemies

Arthur.

_Arthur staring at him, his face ashen. Merlin reached out an arm, unthinking – the harsh hiss of Arthur’s sword being drawn._

_“Get away from me, sorcerer!”_

_He has failed Arthur – the betrayal is agonising and then dizziness overwhelms him. Arthur leaning over him, calling out his name. But why? Arthur’s hand reaches down and shakes his shoulder hard._

Merlin jerked awake. Jethar was watching him from the other side of their little shared tent.

“You should talk to Deira,” Jethar said, “get something to help you sleep.” He paused, unsmiling. “I can go and ask her for you, if you like.”

Merlin pushed himself upright, shaking his head.

“I’ll sort it out,” he said, trying to inject a note of confidence into his voice. He didn’t have to pretend for much longer, however, as there were noises above the usual hubbub outside. He raised and eyebrow at Jethar, who shrugged. They both grabbed their things and went outside.

~ 

Merlin could hear the gentle crackling of flames close by. He could feel their warmth on his face and something heavy on his arms and legs. _This is it_ , he thought, quietly hysterical. _Arthur’s dragged me back to Camelot and I’m being burnt at the stake. I’ve failed him, I’ve failed everyone._ He tried to keep a grip on himself, but terror welled up inside him, taking over every instinct every idea every thought –

Apart from one lone, less concussed voice, which said: _I didn’t know they burnt people at the stake horizontally._

Merlin frowned a little as he processed this, and he cautiously opened his eyes. The crackling flames were not a pyre, as he’d first guessed, but a little campfire. It was dark. Arthur was nowhere to be seen, but as Merlin moved enough to look down – well, along – at himself he realised that the prince couldn’t have gone far because he had left his thick, heavy cloak protecting Merlin from the cold.

So Arthur still cared if Merlin was cold, did he? Merlin’s thoughts were still a little sluggish, but that seemed to be a good sign.

On the other hand, maybe Arthur just wanted to make sure that Merlin stayed alive long enough to kill him properly, according to law. Arthur was a fairly just individual, maybe killing people officially was part of some obscure knight’s code.

All in all, Merlin concluded, still with a little hysteria bubbling underneath his thoughts, it was probably too early to tell.

A twig snapped behind him and he felt rather than heard someone sit down heavily just behind him. Arthur’s hand rested gently on Merlin’s shoulder.

“Merlin?” he asked. His voice was soft but not emotional. Merlin turned his head gingerly to look at the crown prince, but didn’t speak. He knew he probably looked terrified, but didn’t think he could do much about that for the time being. There was a pause, and then Arthur spoke again.

“I just went to get some more firewood. We’ll stay here for the night and travel on in the morning.” He hesitated, then lowered his voice more. “You should get some rest. I’m on watch for now, and Leon will take over at dawn.”

Merlin looked around and focussed his gaze beyond the fire for the first time to see the lumpy outlines of the sleeping knights on the other side of the fire. He turned his head back to Arthur, about to say something, but Arthur had moved away and was busying himself with the fire. And Merlin was very, very tired. His hands and feet were not bound, so he fidgeted to get comfortable before closing his eyes and succumbing.

~ 

The cause of the hubbub was clear as soon as the walked to the centre of the camp. A group of strangers – druids certainly, but strangers nonetheless – had arrived on the eastern edge, dressed for travelling, perhaps twenty of them. Men and women and children, just like the camp itself. Mylan was speaking to the leader of the strangers, a grey-haired man with a scar reaching all the way down the left side of his face. As Merlin and Jethar walked over to hear what words were being exchanged, Jethar leant over to whisper an explanation for Merlin’s benefit.

“They’re druids from the eastern woods,” he said. “They’ve probably been uprooted by soldiers or fighting, it’s been fairly unstable over there recently. They’ll be heading west to find somewhere new to live.”

Merlin nodded.

Mylan was talking fairly civilly to the grey-haired man, who seemed to want something.

“I understand that you have a long way to travel, and I see no reason for you not to stay here and by all means share our supplies,” he said calmly, “but I must consult our elders first – I cannot speak for the whole camp without their permission.”

The grey-haired man nodded, seeming to find this reasonable. But Jethar leant closer to Merlin again to whisper.

“Mylan’s lying,” he muttered even more quietly than he had before. “The druids from the eastern woods have a reputation for being ruthless, even for using dark magic to get what they want.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows, watching Mylan move out of earshot of the newcomers so as to discuss them with the elders.

“Will Mylan let them stay?” he asked quietly. “Or do you think they’ll fight if he doesn’t?”

“It’s hard to say,” Jethar returned, “but I doubt they’ll fight. Without a home they need allies, and Mylan and the elders here have many.”

Mylan nodded to the others and returned to the grey-haired man. Merlin and Jethar, as well as others from the camp who were nearby, moved a little closer out of curiosity.

“We should be able to help you – ” Mylan began, but Merlin’s attention was drawn immediately to a movement from the crowd of eastern druids. A young boy, moving out from behind two women, and coming to stand a little away from the grey-haired man. The boy had pale skin and dark hair not unlike Merlin himself, but the at the sight of him Merlin felt fear and anger begin to coil in his stomach. Their eyes met and the boy spoke, his voice dripping with hate.

“Emrys,” he said. Merlin took a breath, aware that everyone was watching the two of them now.

“Mordred,” he acknowledged quietly, staring into those grey-blue eyes.

~ 

Merlin stood in the corridor, watching the events in the courtyard through a narrow window. The pyre had been built high, and the woman lashed to the stake was silently sobbing. There was a reasonable audience, all muttering amongst themselves; the woman had no family to speak of, so there was no one fighting for her. Just townspeople, gathering to see the accused witch burn.

Only Merlin’s eyes moved as he watched, otherwise he was completely still. This could have been him, should have been him standing on the pyre, burning for the use of the kind of magic that could kill people – that had killed people. So many people. This woman had done nothing but use a healing charm on the young child next door when he had fallen and she would die for it. Merlin… Merlin had caused so many deaths, so much misery and pain, and yet he stood by the window, watching of his own free will.

He didn’t move when he heard footsteps in the corridor. Everyone had their own errands to run at this time of day – as did Merlin, until the scene outside had caught his attention. No one would pay him any notice. No one had for the last week, since he’d performed magic right before the crown prince’s eyes. It was as if he had somehow done some other kind of magic at the same time and made himself invisible. Arthur hadn’t spoken to him all week, just left his muddy boots and scuffed armour outside the door for Merlin to collect when he passed. Gaius, sensing something was amiss by Merlin’s shadowed eyes and silence at meals, had tried to pry, but had not gotten far. Neither had Gwen, and now they both left him alone.

So when he heard someone stop right behind him in the otherwise empty corridor, he allowed himself a small amount of surprise, but didn’t turn around. Perhaps they would go away. Merlin knew that was childish but stayed where he was anyway. He became aware that the person was not watching the events in the courtyard, but watching Merlin. And they were very close behind him.

A hand gently crept to Merlin’s lower arm, and Merlin knew who it was immediately. There was only one person who would touch him like that. He kept watching the courtyard. The pyre had been lit now. But a small part of his mind was tracking the movement of that hand with the tough skin born of repetitive training. It moved slowly, uncharacteristically hesitant, up Merlin’s arm and then down again, soothing but unsure.

Arthur leant slightly closer, and Merlin knew that if he turned his head even slightly he’d be able to see the bright gold hair and those blue, blue eyes.

He didn’t turn his head.

He kept his eyes fixed on the flames engulfing the pyre, staring so hard that the sharp, flickering lines seemed to blur.

Arthur took a breath to speak, and Merlin felt something in his heart tighten. Was it over now? Arthur’s mouth was right by his ear, and he spoke quietly but with the air of a solemn and heartfelt oath.

“I will never let them hurt you, Merlin,” he said softly. Merlin pretended that there weren’t tears in his eyes, too stubborn to even move, but he let Arthur cautiously reach his arms around him until he was holding Merlin closely.

“I’m sorry, Merlin. I’ll keep you safe.” The words were gentle and heavy with meaning, but Merlin barely listened to them. He felt lost inside Arthur’s arms, and wondered vaguely how long of Arthur holding him it would take before he stopped shaking.

~ 

“You two have met?” Mylan asked, a little surprised. Merlin nodded. The grey-haired man looked at Mordred, and then back at Merlin with narrowed eyes. Well, that made that fairly clear. Merlin thought he probably should be working out how to deal with this, but the sight of Mordred brought up memories of Morgana and then Kilgarrah, and he felt numb and stupid, unable to work out what to say or what to do.

“I don’t suppose he’ll have told you,” Mordred said, packing more revulsion into the word “he” than should have been possible for one so young.

Both groups of druids had gone quiet now, even the youngest picking up on the tension in the air. The druids of the camp were curious, not angry – but a few of the eastern druids were staring at Merlin as though he were a particularly unpleasant insect.

Merlin swallowed.

“It’s good to see you well, Mordred,” he said softly and honestly. However many mixed feelings the young druid evoked, Merlin did not have any desire to see him hurt. Mordred probably would not believe this, however.

“I am – no thanks to you,” he replied, his voice clear in the hush. “Last time we met, you tried to kill me.”

The silence became absolutely still. Merlin could barely hear the others breathing. He gathered himself as much as he could.

“That was an accident,” he said as calmly as he could manage. “I didn’t realise those guards were there – I just wanted to talk to you.” He fought the urge to blurt out everything – how guilty he had felt, how hard he had worked, how little he had slept. It would do nothing for his case, certainly not in Mordred’s eyes.

The younger boy made a sound of disbelief, his expression disdainful.

“You won’t even admit it, will you?” he asked. He glanced around at the other druids and then back at Merlin. “But then, I wouldn’t expect anything more from Arthur Pendragon’s _bootlicker_.”

A sharp gasp was echoed by several druids, and whispers rippled around the crowd. Mordred smirked without humour. Merlin felt his heart go cold with fear. He had nowhere else to stay – if he had to leave… and he would, because what group of druids would take in the friend of a Pendragon?

The thought of Arthur forced him to speak through the fear.

“He saved your life, Mordred, at great risk to his own. Or doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Mordred’s eyes narrowed in anger.

“I don’t forget things, _Emrys_ ,” he all but hissed. “I remember you, and I know who you are. I know _what_ you are.” His eyes were fixed on Merlin’s. The silence had returned.

“You haven’t told them, have you?” Mordred mocked. “I’m not surprised. Do you really think they’ll let you stay when they find out what you’ve done, what you are?” His words echoed Merlin’s own thoughts, and he fought against the urge to just run away.

“So they don’t know that they’re sheltering a liar,” Mordred continued, every word like a knife, “and a traitor.” He took a step closer, his eyes piercing into Merlin’s.

“ _Murderer,_ ” he said.

The world seemed to fracture as a whirlwind of fear rose up inside of Merlin’s soul and took over everything. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand there still and look into those cold blue eyes and listen to those words. He turned, pushing Jethar away from him, pushing through the few druids in the way, and fled into the forest. Behind him, he heard Mordred’s final word called out behind him.

“Coward!”


	7. Memory

Merlin ran. He kept running, as though he could outrun his thoughts as well as Mordred’s words.

_“A liar, and a traitor. Murderer. Coward!”_

But they weren’t the only words ringing in his ears. He could hear Mordred speaking to him in his mind but he fought to block him out, drawing power instinctively to wall off his own mind and shut off the mocking voice the brought back so many still-painful memories. Morgana. The dragon. The firestorm…

 – _fire ripples around Camelot’s great hall like water, licking the stones and turning the air to a smothering heat –_

Merlin may have been powerful, but he could not stop his own mind. His heart felt as though it was screaming at him; childishly, he put his hands over his ears as he ran, as if to block it out, and almost instinctively closed his eyes –

– and, as always, his foot caught on something and he stumbled, the force with which he had been running taking him down to the ground. But he was barely there for the space of a breath when he heard Mordred’s voice still in his head, and that alone dragged him back to his feet and sent him running again. Anything to get away.

~

Merlin felt better when Arthur was around.

It wasn’t that Arthur could fix everything – the world didn’t magically become bliss just because the golden prat walked in, by any means – but when Arthur was there, Merlin tended to stop thinking about how many mistakes he’d made and start noticing things like the colours in Arthur’s hair when the sun shone on it just right, or how Arthur’s laugh seemed to rise above those of the knights when a jest was made, or how he would card his fingers through Merlin’s hair at night and whisper soothing nothings to help him sleep…

But when Arthur wasn’t around, all of those thoughts and worries and regrets crept back in as if they’d never left. Merlin knew that he wasn’t hiding it that well, because Arthur would often ask him about it. Sometimes in words, to which Merlin would give a muttered ‘it’s nothing’ and change the subject, and sometimes in looks – those bright blue eyes asking but never demanding, seeking but never finding. Even after Arthur found out about his magic, Merlin couldn’t bring himself to talk about the dragon, or his father, or Morgana. He just couldn’t. He knew Arthur had worked out some things, because they would occasionally talk about them. They would talk about trolls and falling chandeliers, about lakes and druids and assassins and unicorns, but never about those days of sleep and loss and fire.

Arthur had probed gently into the events surrounding the questing beast and gotten a brief outline, but had not returned to the topic. Merlin did not know it, but the pain in his eyes had settled the young prince’s mind about many things, particularly Merlin’s loyalty. Arthur had known at once that he would never let Merlin be harmed and would trust him with his life; but learning that he could trust him with others had taken a little longer. Arthur had learned many things about Merlin over that time; but he had also learned that the true depth and nature of Merlin’s sorrow and occasional uncharacteristic silences was concealed from him like the valleys in an ocean floor. He could never hope to reach them all, only to be what he could for his golden, impossible sorcerer.

He didn’t know how much his words had helped. Because however much Merlin hurt, he could not deny the simplest fact: that Merlin felt better when Arthur was around.

~ 

He wasn’t around now. He was far away, so far away that it hurt, that it made all of Merlin’s nerves shudder at his absence. Merlin lay on one side in the grass, breathing heavily, unable to run any farther, curled up. He could no longer hear Mordred’s voice in his mind, nor any sign of life in the forest around him. He was alone.

His mind slipped back to memories of nights with Arthur, twisted together, both protecting and protected. So right. But it had been taken from him, taken by spies and traitors and evil and _the great firestorm, purging all in its wake_ …

He saw Arthur every month. They had minutes together. But every time it felt to Merlin as though Arthur were slowly drifting away from him. Every time his smiles were too fleeting, his laughter too hesitant, his kisses too cool. _I’m losing him_.

And now he had no home with the druids.

_I am alone_.

A twig snapped several meters away. Soft, padded footsteps across the grass. A soft hand on his shoulder.

“Emrys?”

Isa. Merlin didn’t know if he dared move. Why was she here? What did she want?

“Mylan’s sent the others away. He says there’s no need for you to fear us, we trust our own more than any stranger, and we trust you.” She paused. “Come back, Emrys. Please.”

Merlin said nothing, but slowly pulled himself up to standing. He couldn’t bring himself to look down at Isa as she slipped her hand in his and led him back to the camp.

~ 

When they got back, Deira and Mylan and the others were waiting for him. It was nearing midday, and Merlin felt the sun on the back of his neck as though it, along with the druids, was watching him. Watching and waiting, almost unnaturally calm. Isa did not let go of his hand, and Merlin was grateful – young though she was, she was kind-hearted and her gesture meant more than she knew.

Deira stepped forward. Merlin couldn’t look at her. She seemed to understand, though, as she put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you for trusting us,” she said softly. Merlin felt emotionally numb, self-protection from the feared rejection, but at this he felt a glimmer of hope. Mylan spoke.

“Emrys, I sent those druids away because we consider you to be one of us – and we look after our own.” His voice was firm, but not without kindness. “We do not forbid the keeping of secrets,” he continued, and Merlin closed his eyes, knowing what was coming next, “but may I ask a question, if you will look at me for a moment?”

Merlin slowly forced himself to look up and into the sharp brown eyes, giving one hesitant nod.

“If I told you that we could help to ease the burden you carry if you shared but a little of its weight, would you do so?”

After a moment that felt as though it contained eternity, Emrys lowered his eyes and nodded again. Mylan put his hand on Emrys’ shoulder, unable to avoid feeling how thin he was, and gently led him out of the camp, Deira and Jethar following.

They soon reached a small clearing where a fire had been set, and another elder, Taylus, waited. A druid’s staff was braced against the stones around the fire so that its casting end was in the centre of the flame.

“Words are difficult and painful things,” Mylan said quietly, “particularly when such hard things are to be said.” He nodded at the others, who took their places seated around the fire, and brought Emrys to sit within arms reach of the unheated end of the staff. The younger man barely reacted, but Mylan could sense a little flare of curiosity coming from him.

“We find that images are easier,” he continued. He reached down and touched the cool end of the staff and focused. Immediately a smokey image billowed above the flames – Emrys arriving at the camp several months ago. He sensed Emrys’ attentiveness despite his fear. Mylan sat back and looked across at the younger man.

“Will you tell us your story?”

There was a pause, and then Emrys reached out a shaking hand and touched the staff.

Images, clear and brilliant compared to the misty scenes before, flickered in the smoke. A boy – _Emrys_ – playing in a tiny wooden house, his mother cleaning behind him. The boy trips, knocks over a jug of water – and it stops in midair, water in mid-spill, perfectly still. He glances up at his mother, delighted, hopeful – but she is frightened, almost angry and his face drops. The water jug clatters and splashes to the ground.

A different day – the light has changed, the boy is a little older – and his mother is on her knees before him so that their eyes are level. When she speaks, her voice is at once loving and worried.

“Merlin, you must never do anything like that again, do you understand?”

The boy shuffles his feet, his eyes sore from crying.

“But why?” he asks childishly. “It doesn’t hurt anyone!”

His mother takes his hands in hers.

“Merlin, look at me,” she says. Slowly and reluctantly, he meets her eyes.

“You have a gift. A beautiful gift that I hope you will always treasure,” she says. She hesitates before continuing. “But there are people out there – good people – who believe that it is evil.” She leans in a little closer. “And they will kill you for it. Do you understand?”

The boy sniffs, and another tear runs down his face.

“But – but I don’t want to be evil…” he stutters, frightened. His mother gently brushes the tear from his cheek.

“You’re not,” she says softly.

“But you said good people…”

His mother embraces him tightly, and whispers in his ear.

“Good people can be wrong.”

The picture shifted. Emrys as a young man now saying farewell to his mother, walking away from his home with his belongings on his back. Emrys arriving in Camelot – the execution of a sorcerer, the witch’s promise. Gaius, court physician, falling from the wooden platform and landing on a bed that had not been there a moment ago. Emrys stepping up to defend the servant boy from the nobles. The golden-haired young man’s arrogance and anger at the impudence, Emrys backing away as he approached with a mace. The cells, the stocks. The dragon. The feast, and everyone but Emrys falling asleep; the chandelier falling on command, the witch revealed, Emrys pulling the blond man – Prince Arthur – out of the path of the dagger. “You shall be Prince Arthur’s manservant.” Images and sound, faster now. The shield of snakes, Emrys furiously trying to learn the enchantment. The strange illness that spread without warning, Emrys stowing a stone under a mans pillow to cure him. The Afanc. Emrys drinking from the Prince’s goblet and falling to the ground. Lancelot, the Griffin. Edwin. Sidhe at the lakeside, Emrys pulling Arthur out of the water. The druid boy who was the first to call Emrys by that name. The black knight, the creation of the sword, Emrys casting it away. Emrys and a friend both accused of magic, the deathbed confession a lie. The unicorn and the curse and the labyrinth; Arthur’s decision to sacrifice himself. The Lady Morgana seeking revenge. The Questing Beast, the Isle of the Blessed, Nimueh.

Mylan glanced over to Emrys. The boy’s fingers rested lightly, almost casually on the staff, but his face was tense, frightened, focussed immutably on the pictures flickering over the fire.

Arthur favouring a new servant, Cedric. Pictures and sound may have been all that the spell could show, but Mylan felt a wave of emotion from Emrys – jealousy, betrayal and most surprisingly, lust. He glanced over to him again, and this time saw something of a blush on the young man’s cheeks.

“But it must hurt so much to be so put-upon, so over-looked, when all the while you have such power!”

“That’s the way it has to be!”

Emrys saving Arthur from an assassin at the jousting tournament. Emrys watching the Lady Morgana with druids from the eastern borders. Her confession of her magic. Emrys and Arthur rescuing a friend from Hengist. The troll, the Witch Finder. Mylan felt a shiver pass around the circle at his name.

Morgause. Arthur meeting the apparition of his mother, returning to fight his father. Emrys bursting in at the last moment to stop them. Arthur and Emrys in Arthur’s chambers afterwards.

“It is once again clear to me that those who practice magic are evil and dangerous – and that is thanks to you.”

“Glad I could help.” The heartbreak in his eyes.

The lingering feelings Emrys had held for Freya. The anger he could not hold for her killer.

Emrys watching Arthur and Lady Vivian fall for each other falsely. Explaining to the servant girl, Gwen, that Arthur loved her. The hidden pain in his expression as the counter-spell was successful.

Alvarr and Morgana and Mordred. The Crystal of Neahtid.

The knights of Medhir, and Emrys’ first battle wound. Mylan took a third glance at Emrys. His expression was despairing, agonised. _Please, no_.

The strange enchantment of the people of Camelot. The Lady Morgana, unaffected. Emrys learning from the dragon and promising its release, taking the hemlock.

Poisoning Morgana.

The betrayal in her eyes.

Releasing the dragon.

The attacks on Camelot. Hundreds dead. And Emrys unable to act, barely able to move for the guilt. Seeking out the Dragonlord, Balinor, Emrys’ lost father – his death, so mundane and ordinary.

“I've seen enough in you to know you will make me proud.”

Going out to fight the dragon once more; “no man is worth your tears”.

Defeating Kilgarrah, and lying to Arthur.

Emrys’ guilt over the deaths and lies was inconsolable. Mylan and the others watched as he grew more and more withdrawn until Arthur himself noticed. Unable to get Emrys to confess the source of his misery, Arthur kisses him.

There are a hundred more images now, of fights and sorcery and strange creatures, but one image reoccurs so often that it’s almost constant. Emrys and Arthur, leaning close in the shadows of an alcove. Arthur and Emrys with lingering touches as the daily routine continues. Emrys begins to eat properly again, to smile, to laugh, but Arthur still remains curious about the sadness in his eyes.

And then there was a burst of flame, quite unconnected to the fire below it, that fills the image. Emrys jerked back away from the staff, and the images disappeared.

Mylan leant over him and gestured for Taylus to dismantle the fire. He took off his cloak and wrapped it around the shaking Emrys and let Deira take over, holding the young man as only a mother can, speaking in soothing, meaningless words meant to coax and to calm.

With Jethar’s help, the five of them walked back to the camp, and Emrys slept fitfully as Deira watched over him.

Mylan sat up late thinking about the flame from the memory.


	8. Farewells

_“How did you get caught?”_

_Merlin seemed unsurprised by the question. He shrugged._

_“How does anyone?” he said, overly casually. “I got too clever for my own good, and I messed up. I was seen doing magic.”_

_“I had a friend who managed to… arrange my escape,” Merlin answered quietly. “I was very lucky. I… don’t know if my friend was, though. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”_

~

A day passed. Emrys got up and went about as normally as possible. But Mylan couldn’t help but notice how quiet he was, how tense.

“He’s waiting for us to throw him out,” Deira said quietly as she stood with Mylan that morning.

“I know.”

“He doesn’t believe that we trust him.”

“No.” Mylan put a hand on Deira’s shoulder. “But he will learn.”

~ 

The party was one of Camelot’s best. Nobles of the entire land were there, drinking, talking, dancing. And being served, of course. The servants around the edges of the room were all personal, as was the tradition at this particular event. Merlin had lost track of Camelot’s various festivals and the reasons behind them, but he was enjoying this one. Arthur was occupying himself without moaning to Merlin about boredom, and Merlin hadn’t spilled anything yet. Also, he wasn’t being forced to wear a stupid hat. Definitely a plus.

It was such a good night. One of Merlin’s best, he thought. Admittedly, he was still working. But Arthur was happy – Arthur was Merlin’s lover – Arthur was okay with Merlin’s magic – and, more to the point, Arthur kept sending him _those_ kind of looks. Those ‘I really can’t send you a come-hither look in public but this is the next best thing’, ‘why aren’t we kissing right now?’ kind of looks. Merlin smiled nonchalantly back, deliberately ignoring the implications to tease Arthur, who raised his eyebrows jokingly back.

It was perfect.

So of course it had to be ruined.

~ 

A few days after the spell and the fire, Emrys left once again to meet his friend in the woods. Mylan, Deira, Taylus and Jethar exchanged glances when he made his usual excuse of walking – and Jethar could not help but imagine with little happiness the golden-haired prince awaiting his Emrys in the clearing. Emrys had set off earlier that day. _They probably want to have more time with each other,_ Jethar said to himself. _And why shouldn’t they?_

That, he could not and would not answer, even in the privacy of his own mind.

~ 

The great hall, just minutes ago such a place of delight, was in ruins. The guests were gathered – Merlin wasn’t quite cruel enough to say ‘huddled’ – in the corner furthest from the great doors. Food had been knocked off tables, drink spilt and several people were injured. Merlin was helping Gaius look after them, and watching Arthur and several knights attempt to open the doors to no avail. The king paced in front of his throne.

A great shudder of wind had ripped through the hall – through the castle – locking every door and window with far more than metal and wood. Merlin had felt the wave of magic approach seemingly out of nowhere, but it had hit them even as he scrambled through the crowd to warn Arthur.

The rush had knocked everyone down, some more harshly than others. And now there appeared to be no way out of the hall. Merlin had spoken to Arthur, knowing he would have a better chance opening the door than the knights, but Arthur had merely scowled and pointed out that there was no way he could manage that without being seen.

“Pass me that piece of cloth, Merlin, it’ll do for a bandage,” Gaius said. Merlin passed him the material without thinking, his whole being focussed on trying to find the source of the magic. It had appeared, at first, to be from nowhere – but the more he pushed his senses, the more he seemed to feel.

When he realised what he was sensing, he got up and walked quietly over to Arthur. The prince saw him coming and moved far enough away from the other knights for them to talk privately.

“What is it?” Arthur asked. He recognised the expression on Merlin’s face, the one he wore when he had discovered something particularly bad.

“I can’t get anything specific,” Merlin said in a low voice, “but there’s something coming. It’s at the castle entrance now.”

“But it’s locked – the guards –”

“The guards won’t make any difference, Arthur,” Merlin muttered. “It’s the same something that created that wind, it’s powerful enough to shut down the entire castle from a distance away – the guards are probably already dead.” Arthur nodded, his face unemotional, but Merlin knew he was blaming himself for that already.

“Any idea what this thing is?” Arthur asked quietly. Merlin chewed his lip for a moment.

“I don’t think it’s one thing. I think it’s an army.”

~ 

In the druid camp, the moon was high and the night was dark. Most of the camp were already asleep, but Deira had stayed awake to wait for Emrys. Despite having left his belongings in the tent he shared with Jethar, she still worried that perhaps he had left them forever…

She sat a long while, wrapped in a blanket, occasionally stirring the remains of the fire with a long stick.

The sun had begun its rise not long ago when Emrys returned, weary and silent. He walked past Deira without seeing her, and headed inside his tent.

Jethar appeared to be asleep, but when Emrys sat down he stirred and sat up, glancing at the gap in the folds of the tent where the dawn light was seeping through.

“You were gone a long time,” Jethar said. There was an odd tone to his voice; partly friendliness, but also partly something else, something masquerading as curiosity but darker.

There was a moment or two of silence. Then Emrys spoke.

“He wasn’t there,” he said quietly. “I waited… and he wasn’t there.”

Jethar said nothing. There was nothing that could be said. After another moment or two, Emrys laid down and pulled his blanket over himself, turning away from Jethar in the process. Jethar did the same, and tried to quash the little flame of hope that had been lit in his mind.

~ 

Merlin had been right. It was indeed an army that opened the great doors with impossible ease from the outside and entered the great hall. But it was small, and not quite what he had been expecting. The soldiers all wore different uniforms, mostly from kingdoms that Merlin recognised, and they had a slightly unfocused look about them, as if their minds weren’t quite present. But they weren’t what really drew his attention.

There was a woman, leading them. She did not wear armour, but a simple dress – she carried no sword, but she bore a staff of twisted maple. She was, undoubtedly, a sorceress.

When she spoke, she commanded the attention of the entire, silent room.

“I am Maldreth,” she said. Merlin glanced across at Arthur, who gave the smallest of shrugs. He didn’t recognise the name either.

“Who will step forward?” she asked. “Who will stand as this kingdom’s defender?”

There was a pause as every face in the room turned to Arthur. He walked forward and drew his sword from his sheath – so glad that he had worn it tonight – and stood in the centre of the room, facing the sorceress.

“I, Arthur Pendragon, will take up this challenge,” he began, but Maldreth shook her head, amused.

“Go back to your tournaments, little prince,” she said mockingly. “It was not you for whom I called.”

Arthur did not move.

“I am this kingdom’s defender,” he said. Maldreth threw back her head and laughed, long and cruel.

“You were not the one that stopped me from killing everyone in this castle,” she said.

Arthur frowned.  
“I don’t understand –”

“No, I expect you don’t,” the sorceress interrupted. “But shall I tell you a secret, Arthur Pendragon?” She took a step forward. Arthur held his position. She smiled.

“You are protected,” she continued. “You are all protected. But not by some muscle-minded prince and his knights.” There was a pause as Maldreth stared around at the knights, nobles and servants. “The one who protects you is in this room. And he or she is a _sorcerer._ ”

~ 

Emrys grew more silent as the days passed. Eventually the moon passed through its cycle, and he left the camp again early one morning, heading in the direction of the clearing in the forest.

He returned just after dawn the next day, his eyes worn and his body exhausted. He slept little, ate less. He grew thin.

Another cycle of the moon passed, and Emrys disappeared for a day again. When he returned, Deira thought she had never seen a person so weary and sad. She took him in her arms and held him in the dawn light as though she could force some of her health into him, but he only stood there passively until she released him before walking slowly back to his tent.

~

There was absolute, shocked silence in the great hall. No one seemed able to speak, bar Uther.

“ _Impossible,”_ he hissed. Maldreth smiled without any hint of amusement.

“You can declare what you like, Uther Pendragon,” she said. “It will not change the facts. A powerful sorcerer guards these walls, and it is to them I address my challenge.”

There were frightening murmurings across the hall as everyone turned to each other and looked around, looking for this so-called sorcerer. Arthur didn’t dare look at Merlin, but stood still facing Maldreth, praying behind his eyes. _Please, not Merlin._

Then a calm, quiet voice spoke just above the muttering, and Arthur felt his heart stop. Merlin.

“Gwen, Gaius – you have been great friends to me, and I am sorry to have kept this from you. Uther…” Merlin paused for a moment as he surveyed the king, a strange expression on his face. “Uther, I may disagree with you, but I respect your bravery. Maybe… maybe we can all only do what we believe is right.” Merlin nodded to himself, and began to turn away. But he stopped, and turned back.

“Arthur,” he said. Their eyes met, blue on blue. “You’re going to be a great king, one day. Look after yourself, and beware of the dangers that you can’t see.” A smile lit up his face. “Good luck, Arthur Pendragon. It’s been an honour.” He started to turn to Maldreth, but then turned back.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.”

There was a moment when their eyes met, and for one short breath it was as though neither would ever be capable of moving away, and they would be stuck together in this impossible pause for all eternity.

Then Merlin turned away again, and stepped forward.

“I accept the challenge.” He spoke softly, but his words all but echoed around the silent hall. Maldreth raised her eyebrows disdainfully.

“The servant boy?” She gave a short, mocking laugh. “Impossible.”

Merlin smiled humourlessly. He let his magic, normally so tightly coiled and smothered, seep into the air around him, until he was standing in a sphere of his own power. He extended it further, as easily as flexing a muscle, sending it out to probe everything in the hall. Gold sparks flickered across the walls when Merlin blinked, and crackled as he shifted his weight.

“Who are you?” asked Maldreth, a note of fear entering her voice.

“I am Merlin, that the druids call Emrys, son of Balinor the last Dragonlord and defeater of Nimueh on the Isle of the Blessed. I was born of magic; I am a creature of the old religion and I stand before you as Camelot’s defender.”

“You would protect this city, these people – this _king_?” Maldreth asked in scornful disbelief.

When Merlin spoke, the air itself seemed to echo him.

“With my last breath.”

Maldreth raised her chin, attempting her earlier disdain, but there was still a hint of fear in her eyes.

“Then you are a traitor to your kind.”

~ 

Six months had passed. Six cycles of the moon. Six missed meetings. Emrys no longer walked alone to the clearing in the forest – he had entered formal training with Mylan, and had time for little else. But he would send Isa in his stead, who was pleased enough to be allowed to roam through the forest for a day and wait in the little clearing playing with flowers. She always returned empty-handed and alone, with no news of Emrys’ lover.

One month, Isa was unwell, and on the rainy day was bidden to stay inside her tent. Jethar volunteered to go in her place, and Emrys seemed grateful.

“Check the fallen tree trunk,” the paler young man said softly as Jethar was about to leave. “There may be a message.” Then he turned back to his studies as though it meant nothing, but Jethar could see the burden weigh down his shoulders as he sat.

Jethar left without a word.

~ 

Arthur remembered little of the fight afterwards. He remembered Gwen’s gasp as Merlin confessed to sorcery; he remembered his own shock at learning that Balinor was Merlin’s father. _Why had Merlin never told him?_

He remembered the frantic flurry of spells – fireballs, flashes of coloured lightning – that passed between the two sorcerers, he remembered Merlin summoning his own staff from his room. He remembered shouts and cries in a language he could not understand, and Merlin slowly being pushed back further and further. He remembered that one, frozen moment when Merlin had suddenly stepped forward, brought his staff around and threw it to the ground. He remembered the furious flames that had erupted in the hall, destroying Maldreth and her rag-tag army, but flickering past him and the people of Camelot as harmlessly as blossom.

He remembered seeing the tears in Merlin’s eyes as the attackers burnt to their death.

He remembered Merlin falling to the floor after the spell was done, like a puppet with his strings cut, all the fire dying to nothing in an instant.

He remembered what happened next, hazy through his fear for Merlin. His father had been speechless, stunned, and Arthur had called for Gaius to help Merlin. Together they checked him for injuries and tried to rouse him with no success. He was feverish, Gaius said, he had used too much of himself.

Arthur knew there was little time before his father awoke form his shock and ordered Merlin’s execution. He organised a few knights – those he trusted most, Gawain and Leon and Gareth – to move Merlin to Gaius’ quarters. He sent the nobility scurrying back to their rooms, and set the rest of the knights securing the castle as the servants began to clear up.

There was not a trace of Maldreth or her army left in the room.

Eventually, Arthur and his father were alone.

~ 

Jethar moved through the forest gloomily. He knew that Deira, were she with him, would be talking about how much good the rain did the world, and Isa would be dancing in it – but he could not bring himself to be cheerful or grateful when it was dripping over the front of his hood. Eventually he reached the edge of the clearing, and waited.

~ 

A few hours had passed. Merlin stirred a little in his fretful sleep, and Gaius was watching him closely when the door was opened and Arthur entered. He was carrying a thick, heavy cloak, a bundle of cloth and a sheathed sword. Gaius raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur was quicker.

“My father will not wait any longer. You need to get him up.”

~ 

There was no movement in the clearing for several hours. Jethar considered heading back to the camp, but knew that Emrys would ask him why he had returned so early. It was good that he had stayed, because as the rain pummelled the ground in mid-afternoon, a cloaked figure appeared on the other side of the clearing.

~ 

Leon, faithful to the last, brought around two horses and helped Arthur saddle them. Merlin was up and walking but he was barely conscious, so Arthur pulled him onto his own horse and sat behind him, leading the other horse by its reigns. They galloped out of the castle and out of Camelot without delay – in fact, it was oddly silent. A few people watched them pass from their windows but none made a move to stop them. When they were half a mile away, Arthur heard the toll of the warning bell, and urged the horses on.

~ 

The figure was better dressed than Jethar, though not by much, and far taller than he had expected. A wet piece of brown hair hung down in front of the hood, and Jethar realised that this was not Emrys’ beloved Arthur. The stranger walked cautiously over to the fallen tree, his hand on his sword, before reaching inside his cloak for something small and dark and stowing it inside the hollow trunk. Jethar waited until the stranger had been gone for several minutes before going over to retrieve it.

~ 

They reached a stream, and crossed it. Arthur shook Merlin’s shoulder, who seemed to have been slightly revived by the cold air, and got them both down from the horse. Then he sent one horse running off with a sharp slap, saddle and reigns but no supplies.

“Merlin, listen to me. Merlin!”

Through his dizziness and his fever, Merlin heard Arthur’s voice and concentrated on it. He looked at the prince.

“Yeah?” he croaked. “What now?”

“Now you run,” Arthur said firmly, surprised that his hand wasn’t shaking as he pointed upstream. “Follow the river up into the forest.” He handed Merlin the cloth bundle. “That’s enough supplies for a week or so, but there are plenty of settlements in these parts. Head up the river and don’t stop, just keep going. Disguise your tracks if you can.”

Merlin stared at him.

“But Arthur –”

Arthur heard the sound of shouts and galloping horses from the way they had came.

“I’ll go the opposite direction. Hopefully they’ll follow me or the other horse. Now go!”

Merlin didn’t move.

“I can’t leave you –”

The hoof beats were getting closer. Arthur climbed on the remaining horse, desperation entering his voice.

“I’ll find you again. That clearing from last spring, the day before full moon – Merlin, run, just get out!”

“Arthur, I –”

“Don’t worry about me, you idiot, I can fight them, just do as I say for once and RUN!”

“But Arthur –”

“Go!”

Their eyes met once more – and then Merlin turned and ran. Arthur watched him out of sight and then spurred his horse in the opposite direction.


	9. Jethar (an epilogue)

Jethar retrieved the thing from the tree trunk, and as the rain began to ease he took it out from under his cloak. It was wrapped in leather, probably to keep out the rain. Jethar hesitated for a moment, and then opened it.

_M,_

_I miss you more and more…_

Jethar read through to the end, not moving. Then he looked away and stared at nothing, a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind.

Jethar remembered when Emrys had first walked into the camp. He had been cleaning his shoes just outside his tent when he had heard the everyday hubbub succumb to a hush, and looked up to see a stranger standing just on the edge of the forest. His clothes were well-used but neatly kept, his black hair untidy, his blue eyes hungry and exhausted. He looked, Jethar remembered thinking at the time, like someone who had a story to tell.

And here was the next part of that story. The letter in his hand was carefully written – anyone who didn’t know Emrys wouldn’t know it was for him, wouldn’t be able to guess more than the bare minimum of sparse facts, and no details at all. But to someone who knew a little more…

Jethar remembered spying on Emrys and his lover in the forest. If he’d known then what he knew now, he would have… but would he? Really? This couldn’t be real, it had to be a trick.

There was a quiet tapping noise and Jethar started, before he realised it was just the letter fluttering in his shaking hand. Good parchment, smooth and well made. The handwriting of someone more used to handling a sword, and yet the language eloquent and clear. He read it through again, knowing he should never have looked in the first place. He got to the signature at the bottom – no name, simply signed with a single letter. “A”.

_How can Emrys… how could he…_

Jethar stood there for a long time with the letter in his hand in the evening light. The he made his decision.

He lit a fire in the clearing, just a small one, on a small stone. The paper burned smoothly and quickly, disappearing into ash that Jethar buried. Then he tidied the remains of the fire, and walked back to camp.

~

Three months later news came, as it did infrequently. The daughter of a dead noble who had long since vanished was discovered working as a servant in Camelot, and so Prince Arthur was to marry the Lady Guinevere. Jethar could have said something then – but he did not.

And so Jethar walked past, and pretended not to see the despair in Emrys’ eyes, the hollowness of his smile, and waited for the day when Emrys would heal and he, Jethar, would be waiting.

A far more faithful friend than some heart-breaking prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sequel to "Heads and Tales" will be called "Edge", and I will start posting that in the next few days. Thank you for your support, would love to hear your thoughts on this one!


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